


Mirror, Mirror

by izazov



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Porn, Character Death, M/M, Masturbation, Pseudo-Incest, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1904340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izazov/pseuds/izazov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Nothing is impossible, Thor. You only need to want it badly enough. And know where to look.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror, Mirror

It always starts with a memory. A flash of a teasing smile, or hooded eyes, dark with desire. Sometimes Thor can almost feel a trail of fingers down his chest, stopping teasingly above his waistband before dipping lower. And each and every day it happens, he vows to himself that he will not cave this time.

And each and every night, he does. Sometimes, he can even remember the time when lying to himself had not come as easily as it does now.

The mirror cost him much. The shame still burns hot inside his chest when he thinks of the price, but he would pay it again, and again, and again, and do it gladly. Thor holds no delusions about the mirror’s nature. He knows what it does is a mere trick, dark magic giving life to his memories. His mind knows it, and even if self-loathing tastes bitter as any poison, his heart cares not for his mind’s reasons, it simply aches. And the mirror’s illusion is the only salve for its still bleeding wounds.

The mirror is located in a small room adjacent to his chambers, and only he can enter it. Fitting, since the mirror is the source of his deepest pleasure and darkest shame all at once, and he is not willing to share either with those around him.

Thor tries, though. He fights against the desire to see him once again, if only for a second. Sometimes he manages to hold out an hour, sometimes even three. But every night he finds himself unlocking the door of the room housing the mirror with trembling hands, his heartbeat a deafening noise in his ears.

It takes him three steps to reach the mirror and pull the dark curtain off it its flat surface. It takes a lot longer to still his trembling hands, and force his lungs to draw breath. And even longer to open his eyes and face the sight before him.

The mirror is grand in its design, almost reaching his height, and wide enough to take up half the wall, but his outward appearance is almost plain, ordinary glass surrounded by a simple silver frame. But what makes this mirror special and unique, are the runes engraved in the frame. According to legend, only two were ever made. Two mirrors that give life to anyone’s heart’s desire. The legend tells that the sorcerer who made them went insane with grief, destroying one in his madness, before ending his own life. The other had been lost for centuries, becoming but a myth, a whispered promise of anyone’s deepest and darkest desires.

And now it is his.

He can still remember the bloody smile on the witch’s face, the gleam of triumph in her eyes before they dulled completely.

_“Do you know what is it that you seek, Asgardian?” The witch asks, a dark hood obscuring her face from view, leaving only her mouth – thin and bloodless – visible._

_“I do.” The witch doesn’t inspire fear in him. Thor is not entirely sure would he be able to feel fear anymore, even if he tried. But he cannot say he feels comfortable standing in this dimly lit hut, in the presence of someone who, no matter the semblance to that of an old woman, exudes such dark power he can feel its touch, thick and oily, on his skin._

_“You may think you do, but this mirror is no blessing,” the witch croons, standing up, and it takes all his strength of will not to take a step back when she starts to circle him, one of her thin, wrinkled hands tracing the outline of his armor-clad shoulders. “It tells lies, Asgardian. Pretty lies, yes, wearing the shape of that what your heart yearns after, but when you reach after it, and you will, everyone does, your fingers grasp nothing but the mirror’s cold surface.” She pauses in front of him, her lips stretching into a smile sharp enough to cut through stone, but her whisper is soft, almost tender. “And that is not the worst thing about it.”_

_“And what is?” Thor asks after a moment, his voice hoarse, the wild rhythm of his heart a pounding beat against his chest._

_Her smile gets bigger, revealing a set of sharp, unusually white teeth. “The mirror has two sides, one is truth, the other a lie. You may think you know on which side you belong, but after a while, you can never be sure.”_

_“That changes nothing,” he says after a moment, his own lips curved around a mirthless smile. “I care not what side I find myself on. I am here because I seek that what will be on the other side.”_

_The laugh that tears from the witch’s lips caries the sound of nails scraping against wood. “Oh, such a brave fool you are, Asgardian, but do not blame me when the time comes and you find yourself wondering what is real, and what the illusion.”_

_“Then do we have a bargain?” Thor asks, impatient, the dull ache inside him overriding the warnings of his mind. He needs something to fill the void his brother has left behind. Even if that something is an illusion._

_“We do.” The witch says slowly, and the warm wave of relief that washes over him makes him remember what it means to be alive._

_“And the price?” He asks after a moment, somberly, squaring his shoulders in an almost unconscious gesture. There is always a price, and for something as rare and powerful as what he is bargaining for, the price must be high. He can only hope that it will not be too high. “What is it that you seek from me in return for the mirror?”_

_The witch regards him silently for one long moment. Then, suddenly, she pulls off the hood, revealing an almost skeletal face underneath, but it is the sight of her eyes – black and bottomless, shadows of things too dark to contemplate lurking underneath the grim amusement – that makes him take an involuntary step back. “A life.” The witch says, and her smile turns lethal._

Thor does not think often of the witch. The memory sometimes creeps into his dreams, unwanted and unwelcome, the sound of her laughter wrenching him out of his sleep, drenched in sweat and gasping.

But he has yet to regret making the deal, even if he knows now the sharp, bitter stab of disappointment and loss when he does what the witch foretold – when he reaches after the image of his brother on the other side, but finds only the cold, flat surface of the mirror underneath his seeking fingers.

Even if he battles with himself, trying to stay away, knowing that each night only carves another hole inside his heart, instead of mending it. The mirror image he seeks out every night is a lie, he knows this, but in those few precious moments before it flickers and then disappears, leaving only his own distraught face staring at him, he can almost believe the lie to be true.

Tonight, he does not try hard to postpone his inevitable surrender. His fingers itch with the need to touch the rune carved into the mirror after an entire day of walking in what feels like a waking dream, the desire to simply forsake everything else and march into the mirror room a heavy, leaden weight in the pit of his stomach. And it is starting to happen with an alarming frequency. The people around him beginning to resemble images from a dream, his own life reduced to a mere echo of someone else’s memory. And the only reality is the mirror. And the images it shows.

His fingers are trembling so hard tonight, he manages to unlock the door only after a second try, his growl of frustration a startling sound in the silence of his private chambers. He almost runs to the mirror, a sudden, irrational fear making his breath come out in rapid gasps, his heartbeat calming fractionally only at the sight of the dark curtain covering his most prized possession.

He pulls the curtain off slowly, the thrill of anticipation sending a shiver down his spine. The entire day he has been waiting for this moment, the want inside his chest bordering on physical ache, but it will be over soon, with a simple touch of his fingers.

Reaching out toward the rune, he pauses, his gaze caught on his own reflection – eyes wide, pupils dilated, mouth half-open, his features contorted in an expression that is equal parts pain and barely held anticipation. And for a fraction of a moment, it is like staring at a face of a stranger, panic swelling in his chest, demanding of him to turn, to leave the mirror behind. But then he blinks, and the moment shatters, the call of the mirror pulling him closer, like a moth to the candle. He, the fool that he is, steps willingly into the flames.

Even after all this time it still amazes him, the way the rune flickers green, coming alive under his fingers, and then the entire mirror does the same, swirling, dancing flames of green shaping itself into the only image that holds any meaning for him.

He always smiles, the mirror image of his brother. A small, almost faint curve of his lips, the twinkle of amusement in his bright eyes, and some nights, it is enough to calm the ache inside him, even if for a brief moment.

Tonight, however, it is not enough to merely look at the familiar image smiling at him from the mirror. No, tonight he yearns to touch, and taste, but, even more, he wants to feel his brother’s lips and hands on his naked skin. The need burns inside his blood, his skin feeling too tight, his chest too small to contain the sheer amount of raw, naked desire. And it is all in vain. He can only look, never touch. Never again.

Thor clenches his jaw together, but is it to stop a howl of fury, or an anguished cry, he cannot tell. His hands, clenched tightly by his sides, itch with the need to tear everything to pieces around him. For one moment, a haze of red blurs his vision, his blood singing an entirely different tune, but no less powerful.

The image tilts his head, his eyes narrowing fractionally, a frown marring his features for a brief second. But then a slow, knowing smile stretches his brother’s lips and he reaches out, one long finger beckoning Thor closer.

Blinking away the red haze of fury, Thor takes a step forward, then another, and somehow, impossibly, the mirror image does the same, matching each of his steps with one of his own, until there is only a step between them. Up this close, it is difficult for him to remember that it is not really Loki smirking at him from the mirror in a way he has done countless times, that the mischievous glint in the green eyes is an illusion, a product of an ancient magic trapped inside a mirror. 

His brother’s smile grows even wider, his half-lidded eyes glinting with the very same need that burns through Thor, and Thor cannot help himself, he smiles back. But it is a hollow smile, only skin deep, while inside his heart still bleeds. It is only fitting, though. Pleasure rarely came without pain for them. And each moment of happiness had to be paid in blood. Both his and Loki’s. 

And it is pleasure Loki has in mind now. He quirks an eyebrow at Thor as he flicks his gaze down, toward Thor’s crotch, and Thor blinks, a startled laughter tearing from his lips. Loki’s image merely holds his gaze, challenging, and Thor has never been good at refusing a challenge. From anyone, least of all Loki.

With a tilt of his head and a flash of a smile, Thor’s hands go to work at undoing his clothing. It is fortunate he is not wearing his armour tonight since his fingers are finding it challenging to undo the laces on his simple breaches.

Swallowing a growl of frustration, Thor takes a deep breath, and following a sudden impulse, he looks up from his fingers still fumbling with the laces of his breaches, and meets Loki’s gaze, softened in one of those rare unguarded expressions of tenderness Thor remembers from days past. And that, more than anything else, feels like a stab to his chest.

_“You are a fool.” Loki says, sounding almost wistful, but his fingers do not pause in their slow path through Thor’s hair._

_Thor merely smiles, and settles his head more comfortably in Loki’s lap, but keeps his eyes closed. He feels safe, warm and relaxed, all his burdens fading under the gentle touch of Loki’s long fingers. Even if most of his burdens are tied inextricably to the man whose touch is making Thor forget all about them. His Loki, both a curse and a blessing of Thor’s life. Now and forever._

_“You might have called me that a few times,” Thor says softly, and that earns him a sharp tug. Reluctantly, he opens his eyes, meeting Loki’s gaze. “What have I done now to deserve it?”_

_“You came here.”_

_“You called,” Thor says simply, as if that explains everything. And to him it does._

_Loki rolls his eyes in annoyance, his fingers leaving Thor’s hair. “You are a king of Asgard and I am its enemy.”_

_Thor sits up, turning to face Loki. He is already regretting the loss of that light, carefree mood of moments ago. “You are my brother.” Thor says fiercely, willing Loki to listen with his eyes. But he knows it cannot be that easy. Loki will not allow it to be._

_Loki snorts. “Brothers do not fuck each other, Thor.”_

_“We do!” Thor exclaims, suddenly angry. Standing up, he throws a glare at Loki who meets it with a blank look. With a growl of frustration he takes two steps, but then stops dead in his tracks, his anger evaporating as quickly as it came. “I know how this argument ends, Loki. I know all the lines, and I tire of repeating them.”_

_The silence is his only answer, but Thor refuses to back down first. Not again. There is a soft sigh, followed by a sound of light steps. Thor frowns, his eyes narrowing when a body molds itself against his back, a warm huff of breath ghosting over his ear. Trust it to Loki to never play fair. “Your denial hardly makes my arguments invalid, Thor. It makes you not only a fool, but an arrogant and blind one at that.”_

_Anger sparking inside his chest, Thor turns, grabbing Loki by his shoulders. Loki’s eyes flash with surprise, but it quickly morphs into defiance, his smirk brimming with insolence. “Have you called me here so you could mock me?” Thor growls, angry and frustrated. “We have so little time to spend in peace, and you want us at each other’s throats even now?”_

_“We are what we are, Thor,” Loki says evenly, calm in the face of Thor’s anger. “No matter how many moments of false peace we steal, we remain enemies. And not even the mighty Thor can change that truth.”_

_Thor blinks, his blood turning to ice water in his veins. He takes a step back, his hands falling off Loki’s shoulders dejectedly. As always, words are the most lethal in Loki’s vast arsenal of weaponry. The one weapon Thor has the least skill to defend himself against. “What are you saying, Loki?” Thor demands, but the words come out more as a whispered plea, than a demand._

_Loki sighs, and suddenly he looks tired. More tired than Thor remembers seeing him. Thor’s hand moves before Thor has a chance to register the gesture, his fingers gentle, but insistent pressure on the nape of Loki’s neck, pulling him closer until their foreheads rest together. Loki’s lashes flutter, and a sigh of content escapes his lips, but the sentiment does not reach his eyes. “This cannot end well, Thor.”_

_A mirthless chuckle escapes Thor’s lips. “Concern from the Trickster? A rare privilege indeed.”_

_“There is no need to be smug about it, Thor. This madness affects us both,” Loki’s words are harsh, but the fingers he has wrapped around Thor’s wrist are gentle. And that is the very essence of Loki. He is paradox incarnate, crying as he delivers a stab to his side, spewing venom as he kisses him, always keeping Thor caught somewhere between anger and tenderness. Between betrayal and love. Not for the first time, Thor wonders how his life would look without Loki in it. His conscience would be lighter, and his heart would not be torn between its own demands and those of the rest of the world. But it would be a dull, empty existence. One Thor does not like to even contemplate. “We both stand to lose much if we keep on this path.”_

_“And even more if we stray from it.”_

_Loki chuckles, the sound of it vibrating against Thor’s lips. “And yet again, despite our given roles, I remain the voice of reason,” Loki shakes his head, exasperated, a gesture so familiar from days of their youth when Loki had been the sole voice that stood any chances of calming Thor and dissuading him from many foolish deeds. “Even if you stand to lose significantly more.”_

_Gripping Loki’s neck tighter, Thor feels only dark, almost wild satisfaction at the thought of marking the pale skin with bruises shaped to fit perfectly his own fingers. Loki is selfish, capricious, cruel and changing as the wind, but he is his. “I have told you countless times that Asgard may have my blood and my life, but you have my heart.” Thor all but growls those words, a desperate need to have Loki believe him fueling the fire in his eyes as he stares unblinkingly at Loki, silently willing him to stop fighting him at last. At least for a moment._

_Loki pulls back slightly, making Thor’s grip tighten even more. Something dark flashes in the depth of his eyes, his fingers matching Thor’s possessive grip around Thor’s wrist. “You are mistaken if you think your life belongs to anyone but me, brother.”_

_“If you mean to have me believe you desire to see me dead, you will have to put more effort in your lies this time, Loki.”_

_“Why would I want that?” Loki smiles, but there is a dark edge to it, one that makes an involuntary shiver of dread crawl up Thor’s spine. “Stealing a soul from death is not an easy feat to accomplish. Not even for me.”_

_Thor’s eyes narrow and he takes a step backward, releasing his hold on Loki. “Do not jest, Loki,” he says, frowning, but the smile on Loki’s face becomes wider, sharper, an almost wild glint in his eyes. “We are not gods, and every life must end. Even ours. I do not fear death, and I will welcome it, when the time comes.”_

_Loki’s smile fades from his face, his eyes now void of the disturbing look of moment ago, replaced by deadly determination. “And I will not,” he says softly, his voice but a whisper, but to Thor it seems like a crash of thunder. Tilting his head, Loki raises his eyebrow in question. “And if I am to die first, you would be content with never seeing me again, knowing the way to Valhalla is barred to me?”_

_Thor stays silent, his chest suddenly too tight, too small, his lungs struggling to draw breath. He had mourned his brother twice so far. Could he honestly go through it again? Now that they have become so much more? Loki’s still, ashen face is a memory that still haunts his dreams. To have it as a reality, to live a life that will forever be shredded to pieces without Loki in it, is it something within his ability to endure?_

_“You keep saying not even I can have all that I desire,” Thor says finally, the answer like a hot piece of coal burning in his throat, but refusing to leave its shelter. Loki’s eyes are fixed firmly on his, searching, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “And you are not mistaken, brother. Even now you are searching for obstacles to throw between us. You ask me to fight death for you, and yet you refuse to lay down your arms against me. Are you never going to be satisfied without some amount of blood between us?”_

_Loki shrugs. “I cannot be anything but who I am, you should know it by now.”_

_Thor huffs out a breath, a sound caught half between frustration and misery. “I am not asking you to be!” He snaps. Taking a step forward, he grabs Loki by the shoulders, undecided whether he wants to shake Loki into some semblance of obedience or draw him into his arms and never let go. So he does neither, only clenches his fingers tightly in the leather of Loki’s armour. “What I am asking is a truce when we are alone, a moment of peace between us so we can have what we both desire. And,” he adds in a steely voice when Loki’s smile turns into a full-blown smirk. “Whatever words you have ready, do not say them. I will not have this day ruined by anyone, even you.”_

_“Like I said, you truly are a fool,” Loki laughs, but he steps forward, and Thor’s hands wrap around his shoulders. “But you are my fool, and not even death can have you.”_

_His last words are a soft exhale against naked skin of Thor’s neck, making Thor’s body shudder. Both from desire and dread. Gripping Loki’s face between his hands, Thor forces his head up, making it impossible for Loki to look anywhere but directly at Thor’s face. “What has gotten into you today?” Loki’s face, devoid of its usual array of masks, looks strangely vulnerable, and so very young. It makes Thor’s heart want to somehow swell and at the same time collapse upon itself. Realization dawning, Thor is not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Is this why you called me here today? This sudden fear of me dying?”_

_Loki’s mouth opens, but no words come out. Instead, a choked sob tears itself from his brother’s throat a second before Loki’s lips crush against his, harsh and demanding, despair leaving a bitter aftertaste on Thor’s lips, along with the coppery tang of blood._

Without a conscious thought, Thor’s hand moves, abandoning the laces of his breaches half undone, instead moving to trace his lower lip, almost surprised to see his fingers clean, not smeared with blood. Thor can recall that day with perfect, painful clarity. Heated, bruising touches, as they tore clothes off each other in their urgency to reach the skin underneath. Every hungry kiss, every possessive caress of Loki’s fingers tinted with despair, Loki’s teeth biting and sucking bruises on the pulse point of Thor’s neck.

_“Nothing is impossible, Thor. You only need to want it badly enough. And know where to look.”_

Loki’s parting words flash with startling clarity inside his mind, sadness of Loki’s smile in stark contrast with the determination in his eyes. Something stirs in the back of his mind, dark and full of sadness, and for a moment, his lungs still, and he is falling, falling down, and there is nothing but darkness waiting for him.

As if sensing a sudden change in Thor’s mood, Loki’s image flashes a sultry, knowing smile at Thor and Thor blinks, the world around him stilling abruptly as air returns to his lungs with a deep, gasping breath. Loki’s eyes are fixed on his, willing Thor to look at him, and only him, and Thor complies. And just like that, the realization that was starting to form in the back of his mind disappears once again in the darkness of Thor’s subconsciousness.

Thor’s breath hitches in his throat, but this time it is caused by a slow, torturous play of Loki’s fingers on one of many buckles of his armour. Thor releases a low growl, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach, but he has enough presence of mind not to reach after Loki, whose smile widens momentarily, and Thor can almost hear the sound of his amused laughter.

Thor makes a quick work of finishing undoing the laces of his breaches, but he does not reach after his already half-hard cock. Instead, he fixes Loki with a challenging look, his own mouth curving in a grin.

Loki’s clever fingers pause momentarily, his eyes darkening with desire that matches the need coursing through Thor’s veins. Thor’s grin widens, smug, when he notes that Loki’s fingers are neither as slow, nor as sure in their task as they pick up where they left off.

Finally, _finally_ , after what seems an eternity, Loki finishes with the last buckle, his fingers dipping low under the waistband of his trousers. Thor swallows around the dryness of his throat, his blood rushing like a wild current in his ears, his cock twitching as it hardens further, but Loki merely stops.

Thor narrows his eyes, his harsh breaths shattering the silence of the room, and if he could, he would bite the smug smirk off Loki’s face. And it is fitting, if frustrating, that even this Loki will not bow to Thor’s will, forever following only the rules he himself had set.

His eyes fixed firmly on Loki’s, Thor pulls his aching erection out of confines of his breaches, his lashes fluttering at the first slow, upward stroke of his hand, his thumb lazily spreading the moisture gathered at the head.

Loki’s image swallows, his eyes flicking down before returning to rest on Thor’s, and the sight of naked hunger in them tears a moan from Thor’s throat, his hand instinctively moving down the length his cock, and that is finally enough to appease Loki, who pushes his trousers down just enough, his own cock springing free of its leather confines, already hard and leaking.

And the sight of Loki’s fingers wrapped around the length of his cock, his eyes blazing with desire, is almost enough to make him come, so he grips the base of his cock and squeezes. He wants this to last, wants to feel the thrum of his heart against his chest and the almost electric sizzle of heat crawling up his skin. He wants to stop time, and capture this moment forever, because now, with his eyes hungrily drinking in the sight of Loki’s fingers moving steadily along his hard length, Thor once again feels alive, his every nerve ending sparking brighter and with more force than any of Mjölnir’s lightning.

He bites hard on his lower lip, the need to move his hand almost unbearable, and when he finally does relent, it is not at his body’s demand, but in answer to a wordless plea in Loki’s eyes. He tries to go slow, remembering Loki’s lazy, teasing strokes, but no matter his efforts he cannot recreate Loki’s touch, his own hand too rough, his fingers not as long, and every stroke brings him almost as much pain as it does pleasure. With a growl of frustration, he gives up, his movements speeding up. And as much as Thor cannot draw this out, it seems, neither can Loki, his brother’s hand working his cock in deliberate, sure movements, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, and even though he cannot hear it, Thor can see Loki’s mouth open around a moan.

Thor’s hand starts to move even faster, his grip skittering the edge of painful, his body greedily chasing the release, and when he comes it is to the sight of Loki’s orgasm, his eyes half-closed in pleasure, his head thrown back, and his mouth opened around what Thor knows is his name.

The orgasm hits Thor in a flash of white, his hand still moving over his softening cock, and the pain that his touch causes on his sensitive flesh pales in comparison to the ripples of pleasure shaking his entire body.

The reality, as always, returns slowly. His breathing slows, his vision clears, and as the last lingering aftershocks of his release disappear, the hollow ache inside his chest returns, and the momentary, stolen pleasure turns to ash in his mouth.

Thor shuts his eyes, a sense of shame and self-disgust settling in the pit of his stomach. He feels cold suddenly, like all the warmth had been ripped from his body with his release. Like he will never be warm again. Reluctantly, he opens his eyes, knowing that the worst is yet to come, so he tries to delay it. Tucking himself in, Thor ignores the mess he has made of his clothing, the sticky wetness of his release staining him a lot less than the acrid tangle of emotions coiling like a serpent around his heart.

Slowly, reluctantly, he lifts his gaze to the mirror image of his brother, and when he does, the world shifts all around him, and once again, he feels like he is falling, lost in green depths of Loki’s eyes, and the only salvation is Loki’s hand, stained with his own release, stretched toward him like a lifeline. Thor reaches out, and for a moment, a brief fraction of a moment between two heartbeats, Thor believes that he will be able to catch it.

He does not.

When Thor’s fingers touch the mirror, Loki’s image flickers, then disappears completely, and Thor is left alone, his fingers splayed against the cold, flat surface of the mirror.

Thor stays deathly still, only his fingers move, forming a fist against the glass. And it would take so little, Thor knows it, just a tiny push, and the glass would crack underneath his hand. And in one moment of perfect clarity, Thor wants it more than anything. Wants to see the crack form in the mirror, and then see it spread until the entire glass surface shatters into thousand tiny pieces, never again to tempt him with false hope.

His heart skipping a beat, and following a will that does not feel entirely his own, Thor increases the pressure against the glass, and does it again, and again, but the glass does not break, it merely shimmers underneath Thor’s hand, tendrils of something cold tingling along the skin of Thor’s hand.

Startled, Thor pulls back, his hand feeling like it had been enveloped in ice, the cold seeping into his very soul. His breath freezes in his lungs, and his knees buckle underneath his weight, sending him down on the ground as the witch’s warning suddenly flashes inside his mind.

Breathing heavily, feeling like a leaf caught in the wind, Thor shudders, his mind assaulted by images of Loki’s eyes. Of the familiar agony and sorrow in them, and the way he sought to touch Thor as if his own life depended on it. 

_…what is real, and what the illusion…_

_…you are my fool, and not even death can have you…_

Thor’s gaze drifts over to the mirror, pulled there by a force greater than his will, but finds only his own eyes, widened in horror, gazing back. And as he shuts his eyes, Thor is sure he can hear a shrill sound of the witch’s triumphant laughter.


End file.
